


Nothing but Bad Memories

by distantattraction



Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: M/M, the pre-yukina days were dark ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantattraction/pseuds/distantattraction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Kisa, high school holds nothing but bad memories. Really, before Yukina, he has very few good memories at all. But we all must start somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing but Bad Memories

“Do you want to come over to my place after school?” Amamiya asks.

“And do what?”

“Nothing academic, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Kisa looks over at his friend, who is sitting with his chin resting in one of his hands, an eyebrow raised significantly at him. “You can’t be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“Can’t I?”

“Go play around with a cute girl. With your looks, I’m sure you could take your pick.”

“You know, Shouta,” he says, leaning back in his chair to give Kisa an appraising look, “you talk about girls enough, but I’ve never seen you really looking at any. I’ve seen you looking at me plenty, though.”

Kisa stays silent. It’s true, of course, but he hadn’t thought Amamiya would _notice_. He supposes subtlety just isn’t his forte.

“Besides,” Amamiya continues, “you’re cute. Why can’t I pick you?”

Kisa looks away, tapping his pencil against the desk. “Maybe because we’re two guys? Come on, Amamiya, stop joking around.”

“Who’s joking?”

Kisa glances back up and almost falls out of his chair. Amamiya had taken Kisa’s lapse in attention as an opportunity to move in close--way too close for this corner of the library. Sure, it’s almost empty in here, but anyone could walk in and see…

 _And see what?_ Kisa thinks. _We aren’t doing anything. Just a friend getting too close to another friend. Just some asshole getting into someone else’s personal space. It’s fine._

Then Amamiya kisses him, and Kisa doesn’t think he’s ever flushed so brightly red in his life. He presses into the kiss for a beat, and then he pushes Amamiya away, heart racing. His hand stays on Amamiya’s chest, but he’s too distracted to notice. “What do you think you are _doing?_ ” he hisses.

“Kissing you,” Amamiya says simply. “And, if I wasn’t mistaken, you were kissing me back. Right?”

Kisa splutters. Amamiya laughs and puts his own hand over Kisa’s, and only then does he realize he’s still touching Amamiya’s chest. He tries to pull away, but Amamiya keeps him in place. “So?” he asks, staring intently into Kisa’s face. “What do you say? My place after school?”

The blush creeps back into Kisa’s cheeks. “Okay,” he says, and Amamiya grins.

 

They spend more of the next few weeks together than they do apart. It becomes a habit for Kisa to accompany Amamiya home; they spend the hours between the end of school and Amamiya’s parents coming home in Amamiya’s room, with the door securely locked.

His parents become accustomed to seeing Kisa sitting with Amamiya at the kitchen table when they get home, papers spread out in front of them. The boys tell them they have a project for class, something long-term that they need to work on together.

The project is, of course, Kisa himself.

Amamiya, it turns out, knows exactly what he wants, and Kisa is more than willing to learn how to give it to him. As young as they are, Kisa is not Amamiya’s first partner; so it is that Amamiya has much to teach him.

Their tutoring sessions are extremely successful, if Kisa’s gasping and shouted approval are any indication. He’s never been shy about touching himself, but the number of orgasms he has during these weeks is staggering, even to him.

Amamiya teaches him many things: what type of lubricants are best to use, how to properly stretch himself in preparation, how to put on a condom, how perfect he looks on his hands and knees, how beautiful he is on his back with his legs on Amamiya’s shoulders, how to see stars in something as simple as a white painted ceiling.

When Kisa mentions an interest in learning how to suck cock, Amamiya is happy to serve as a test subject. They quickly find that Kisa has a gift for the task, a gift which they both decide would be a terrible loss to the world should it go to waste. Instead, they put it to frequent use.

Amamiya whispers compliments into Kisa’s ear, sucks bruises onto his collarbone, fucks him better than Kisa ever imagined he’d be able to. Lying on top of Amamiya’s sheets, with his friend’s arm slung over his chest and his own come cooling on his stomach, Kisa wonders if this is love.

 

Amamiya knows what he wants, and he knows when he doesn’t want it anymore.

“What do you mean ‘it’s over’?” Kisa asks, willing himself to keep his voice down. It works, but he can’t hide the quiver. “We’ve barely started anything.”

“I mean exactly what I said,” Amamiya says with a shrug. “I got bored. I’m sure in a couple of weeks, you would have too. Better to move on sooner than later.”

“I don’t...understand.” Kisa keeps his eyes on the floor, hands balled into fists. He isn’t going to _cry_ , is he? He prays he won’t.

Amamiya’s shoes come into Kisa’s view as he steps forward and claps his hands onto Kisa’s shoulders. “Hey,” he says, and Kisa can hear the smile in his voice. Right now, he hates that smile. He doesn’t want to see it. “Don’t worry so much. You’ll find someone else soon enough. There are plenty of guys like me out there. I’m nothing special.”

Kisa doesn’t look up, even as Amamiya leaves the room. He’s long gone by the time Kisa gets his emotions back under control.

When they see each other the next day, Kisa doesn’t say good morning.

\-----

A hand comes to rest on his ass, and the owner of said hand dares to give it a squeeze. Kisa sighs in exasperation.

He thinks he’s going to have to stop taking this shortcut around the back of the building if this keeps happening.

“For the last time,” he says, spinning around to face his molester, “my being short does not make me a girl. Keep your hands to yourself if you want to keep your hands at all.”

“Oh, but I’m interested in you _because_ you’re not a girl.” Kisa doesn’t recognize the boy--he’s tall, with a decent face but terribly cold eyes that are locked onto his. Probably some third-year. The sort of guy who has no business paying him any mind at all.

The other boy’s hand comes to rest under Kisa’s chin, tilting his face up towards his own. Kisa slaps the hand away before landing a second blow on the boy’s face. “What did I just say?” he asks angrily. The boy looks stunned; Kisa guesses he wasn’t expecting him to fight back. They never do. Kisa takes the chance to move, walking hurriedly toward the main street--

\--only to find himself physically dragged back into the shadow of the school building. An exclamation of surprise makes it halfway out of his mouth before he’s slammed against the wall, hands pinned above his head.

“Now, that wasn’t very nice, was it?” the boy growls, and for the first time, Kisa feels afraid. “If you won’t be a good boy, then neither will I.” And with that, he presses their mouths together in a biting kiss.

This time, Kisa doesn’t fight back, and when they break the kiss, both boys are breathing heavily. The taller boy grins at him, a grin that doesn’t extend to his eyes. The hand not holding Kisa to the wall roams Kisa’s body as he kisses him again. The hand comes to rest for a moment on his chest, feels his heart pounding through his shirt. Then the hand moves lower.

Another squeeze, and this time Kisa gasps. He closes his eyes, pushing his hips forward into the touch. The back of his head thumps solidly into the wall as he tilts his face upward; the other boy takes full advantage of his exposed throat, sucking a mark into the skin.

Kisa isn’t really aware of the boy unbuckling his belt or undoing his zipper, but he certainly notices the hand on his cock. He thrusts forward, and the other boy’s breath is hot in his ear as he leans forward and whispers.

“You’re terribly eager,” and Kisa tilts his face away as if that will make it any less true. “This will be quick, won’t it?”

Kisa says nothing, merely pushes his hips forward again, seeking more friction than the boy seems willing to give. He laughs low in his throat, a sound that Kisa could easily take as a growl.

True to his word, the boy makes quick work of Kisa, who comes with a gasp across his hand. He wipes the mess on Kisa’s shirt and releases his grip on Kisa’s wrists. Kisa’s arms drop heavily to his sides.

“So, are you coming with me or not?” the boy asks.

Kisa thinks about it. He knows what he should do: He _should_ tell this boy never to speak of this incident, leave this shadowed corner of the campus, and never set foot here again.

But this boy wants him. It may be for nothing more than sex--Kisa rather hopes it’s not for anything more than sex--but he _wants_ him, and right now, that feels good.

“Okay,” he says, and the boy’s smile is all teeth.

Kisa never even bothers to learn his name.

\----- 

It’s almost too easy, really. He comes to know the type to look for: big guys, maybe athletes, always second-, third-, or fourth-best at what they do. Guys with something to prove. The world is full of them, and Kisa’s school is no exception. He can take his pick. He starts with the best-looking and moves down the list from there.

The thing is, it’s not that they’re trying to prove that they’re straight. Maybe a lot of them _are_ straight; that’s none of Kisa’s business. All that matters to him is that these boys want to prove that they can dominate another man in every way possible.

And that is exactly what Kisa wants them to do.

After a year, he starts to wonder if there’s going to be a single room on this campus he hasn’t had sex in by the time he graduates. It’s actually an unpleasant thought; he might have to _use_ some of those classrooms eventually, and while the sex itself is rarely bad, Kisa doesn’t like remembering the faces attached to the bodies. It’s strange--they’re always the most beautiful person in the world when they’re on top of him, but as soon as they finish, Kisa finds that their faces lose all their charm.

He becomes very good at persuading his “boyfriends” to take him home with them. He meets little resistance. Kisa is, after all, not a bad-looking boy himself, but more than that, it’s the promise of what’s to come that gets them. Kisa doesn’t think anyone can resist him once they’ve seen him on his knees.

On his back in some classmate’s bed, with whatever-his-name-is’ hand gripping his cock-- _too tightly,_ Kisa thinks. _Is this the way this guy touches himself? Absolutely no technique_ \--Kisa wonders. This, and other afternoons like it, have become the only real goal he has at school nowadays. He isn’t _worried_ \--he gets decent grades without having to try too hard, and he’s sure he’ll be able to get into a decent college. He’ll probably get a decent job where he will do decent work and have an incredibly _in_ decent sex life on the side. It’s as if nothing he does now matters at all.

He wonders for a moment if Amamiya shares these worries, if Amamiya ever thinks of him. But then, Amamiya was never as average as Kisa is.

Scowling, Kisa reaches up to pull the boy down into a kiss. _This_ is what he’s good at. To hell with school.

The boy lets Kisa kiss him for a moment, but in the next, he’s got a hand on Kisa’s face, pressing his cheek into the sheets. The boy sucks bruises onto Kisa’s neck and chest, possessive and punishing. Kisa has a suspicion that this one doesn’t want to be reminded that he’s fucking another man.

 _Sure,_ Kisa thinks, arching his back and squeezing tightly around him as he thrusts. But that doesn’t mean he has to be quiet about it. Kisa moans loudly, more loudly than he normally would, until the boy clasps his hand over Kisa’s mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise. It doesn’t work, and neither does the stinging slap the boy delivers to his face. Kisa lets out half a laugh that turns into another loud moan. Does this guy think he’s never been hit before?

The boy comes inside him with a grunt, and the hand on Kisa’s cock loosens its grip. The strokes also slow dramatically, to the point where Kisa realizes that if he wants to get off, he’s going to have to do it himself. He sighs and rolls his eyes, pushing the boy off of him before taking himself in hand. He is, at least, close.

It doesn’t matter that in the end, it came down to him and his own hand. Besides, he’s not the one who has to clean up the mess, so there is at least that.

\-----

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the slut of the school.”

“And if it isn’t everyone’s least favorite prick,” Kisa says, spinning around to face the other boy. Takenaka is the best-known bully on the campus. He uses his size and his admittedly formidable strength to threaten the other students; even the third-years are afraid of him, and he’s a year younger than they are.

Kisa has never been intimidated by him. He can see the weakness in Takenaka’s eyes. With that stature and that _look_ he has whenever he sees Kisa--like he wants to prove how much stronger he is than Kisa, as if that will hide his weakness--Takenaka would be the perfect target for Kisa to go after, if only it weren’t for his face. Takenaka is not a pretty boy, and that means that Kisa will never sleep with him.

Funnily enough, that is exactly why Takenaka always ends up so close to him.

Takenaka scowls at Kisa’s insult. “You talk awful big for such a small guy. I hear all you’re good for is throwing around.”

Kisa, for his part, is good at keeping his face clear of emotion. He’s always been a good actor. “Maybe.”

“In fact,” Takenaka continues, “I hear you let a lot of guys throw you around. Sometimes more than one at once. How does it feel, taking a cock up the ass and having one down your throat? Or were there more?”

Kisa raises an eyebrow. Takenaka knows the rumors, but only Kisa knows how much of the rumors are true. He isn’t afraid of gossip. “Now, why would you go and ask a thing like that? Are you interested in finding out? Because if you are, there are plenty of other guys you could talk to instead of me. I could give you their names. You’re probably even friends with some of them.”

Takenaka’s face loses any traces of feigned friendliness. He, evidently, is not good at holding a poker face. “Watch your mouth,” he snarls. “None of my friends would ever touch you.”

“Don’t be so sure of that. A lot of people want to touch me.” Takenaka scowls. “Why are you here again, anyway?” Kisa asks. “Are you upset that I’ve had more sex than you? Because I’m sure a lot of people have had more sex than you.” Kisa sees Takenaka’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and he almost smiles. “Or maybe you’re just mad that I won’t fuck you. If that’s the case, then you’d best just get over your broken heart, because we’d never work out.”

Takenaka strides forward, closing the distance between them and grabbing Kisa by his shirt. He pulls Kisa toward him, and Kisa has to lift himself onto his toes to compensate for their height difference.

“I thought I told you to watch your mouth.”

“Maybe I’m not a good listener.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you? Well, maybe I’ll do some talking of my own. I’ll tell everyone you’re just some queer looking to fuck anyone who’ll have you.”

Kisa doesn’t blink, doesn’t back up or back down. He looks Takenaka dead in the eye and says, “Who are you going to tell who doesn’t already know?”

That gives Takenaka pause, but only for a moment. “Your parents.”

Silence. Kisa hopes Takenaka doesn’t hear his breath catch or see his eyes widen before he regains control of himself. “Running to Mommy and Daddy already? And not even your own? That’s pretty sad.”

But from the smile Takenaka gives him--something that nasty can barely be called a smile--Takenaka had noticed how nervous that threat made Kisa. He doesn’t know how his parents would react to either the promiscuity or the homosexuality, let alone both together; Kisa can’t imagine it going well.

“Maybe you can buy my silence,” he says, and now the smile is little more than a leer.

“With what?”

“Well, that depends on what you have.” Takenaka drops his hold on Kisa, the hand moving instead to Kisa’s chin, tilting his face up. His eyes linger on Kisa’s lips before holding his gaze.

“You’ve got a rather poor idea of what flirting is,” Kisa says.

“But I have a great idea of what blackmail is.”

“It’s passable. But your little plan does have one glaring flaw.”

“And what’s that?”

“You picked the wrong fucking person to threaten,” Kisa says, and his fist connects with Takenaka’s face. Kisa may be small, but he knows how to throw a punch. He grabs Takenaka’s shoulders, pulling his chest down so Kisa can throw a knee into his stomach. Kisa finishes him off with a kick to the groin, not even bothering to hold back his strength. Kisa leaves Takenaka curled up on the ground, gasping for breath and clutching at himself, but not bloodied. He wonders if he shouldn’t have broken his nose as well, but he shrugs the thought away.

Kisa stands over him, breathing heavily, but his voice is as strong and sharp as steel. “Tell them all that you got your ass kicked by some short little queer you couldn’t fuck. I’m sure that’ll do wonders for your reputation.” He takes a few steps before turning back to face Takenaka once more. “And stay away from me. I’ve got no qualms about beating the shit out of you a second time.”

\-----

These bars are all the same. It’s rare for Kisa to see the same face more than once, but other than the people, nothing really changes between locations. The steps are always the same. Even if it’s not the same people, it’s certainly the same types. Sitting at the bar downing glass after glass of whiskey is the man who still thinks of himself as straight, waiting for either someone to pick him up or for himself to get drunk enough to find someone himself. In the corner are the boys you can pay for, the ones everyone pretends not to see unless they’re here for them specifically. There’s always the group of friends sitting at a table, chatting loudly enough that everyone here alone feels the weight of the empty seats beside them.

And then there’s Kisa at the bar, wondering which pretty face he’ll go home with tonight.

The clientele may never really change, but these places have enough of a current that there’s always a selection of good-looking men to choose from. Really, it’s a gift. Kisa supposes it would be more difficult if he was looking for something specific in terms of personality. That sort of thing is surely more limiting. But his is an easier game to play; all he has to do is make sure his partner for the night knows to keep this private, and he’s all set.

There’s a man sitting alone at a table at the back who catches his eye. Kisa supposes he must have caught this man’s eye as well, because he abandons his table to sit beside Kisa at the bar.

Kisa thinks about making a show out of checking him out, but the reality of the matter is that he’s already decided. If this guy wants to take him home (or to a love hotel), Kisa’s going with him.

The man buys him a drink, and Kisa pivots on his stool to face him, drinking the beer while leaning one arm on the bar. The man doesn’t immediately return his gaze, and Kisa is torn between finding his shyness hilarious and considering it a waste of both of their time. Still, he stays silent. He knows that guys like this want to make the first move themselves.

Kisa manages to convince the guy to pay for his bar tab before they go. It’s incredible what a man can do with a face like his.

It’s even more incredible what he can do with his mouth. They don’t even make it to the bed. Instead, Kisa presses the man up against the door, hands going straight for his zipper. Kisa’s on his knees with the man’s cock in his mouth before he even realizes what’s happening.

Kisa may tend to skip the foreplay, but he’s not one to rush the sex itself if he doesn’t have to. He takes his time, sucking leisurely, licking long and languid from the base to the tip. He’s got the guy begging in minutes, and when he feels the hands tighten in his hair, he knows to relax his throat before the man thrusts into his mouth. He’s lucky, really, that Kisa chose him. Not everyone can do what Kisa does.

He lets the man hold him in place as he comes. Kisa swallows his release like it’s nothing, but his voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Well?” he asks. “Are we gonna do this or not?”

Kisa lets himself get backed into the bed, lets himself get pushed down onto the sheets, lets the man kiss him with too much tongue and not enough care.

He lets these men call him by his first name, lets them have his phone number, lets them fuck him until it hurts, lets them fuck him until he doesn’t have to think anymore. What he doesn’t do is let them think he cares about them.

So when he gets seventeen texts the next day and a phone call a day for the next week, he knows he has a problem.

\-----

“Are you even old enough to be in a place like this?”

Kisa thanks the bartender for his drink before turning to face the man who had sidled up to the bar beside him. He’s tall, he’s pretty, he’s certainly Kisa’s type. He can work with this.

It’s nothing to brag about, but Kisa has been playing this game long enough to know his way around the rules. He knows that there are only a few of types of men who approach him in bars like these, and from there it’s all a matter of figuring out which type this one is. The man leans over him, pushing his way into Kisa’s personal space, and Kisa thinks he’s figured it out.

“That depends on which ID you ask,” he says. He keeps his voice casual and his gaze cool, but he sees the man’s eyes darken. There’s no sign of concern or fear in them, only interest.

Bullseye. He’ll have that interest turning into arousal within the hour.

“So how old are you, then?”

“I can’t go spilling all my secrets all at once, now, can I? Besides, what have you done to earn them?”

The man smiles, scratching his head. He’s _very_ pretty, actually. Kisa can practically feel himself falling for this guy. “I suppose you’re right. I could buy you a drink--” He pauses, catching sight of the full glass in Kisa’s hand. “But I see you already have one,” he finishes, shoulders slumping.

Kisa tilts his head ever so slightly to the side before leaning back and downing his drink. He keeps his eyes fixed on the man’s face, watches him watch Kisa swallow.

“No,” Kisa says, dropping the empty glass on the bar. “Buy me a drink.”

Kisa takes his glass, full once more, and he follows the man to a table. He introduces himself as Ichimura, a man with a job Kisa doesn’t care about and hobbies Kisa doesn’t bother listening to. Kisa introduces himself as Shouta, eighteen, new to Tokyo, here for university.

When he mentions the number, he sees something shift in Ichimura’s face, in his mannerisms. This is how Kisa knows he’s got him trapped.

Young though he may look, Kisa doesn’t play shy or inexperienced. Hell, even when he _was_ eighteen he wasn’t inexperienced; why would he pretend to be at thirty? So as the night rolls on and they exhaust the subjects they are willing to discuss--they both know this isn’t a _date_ \--it’s Kisa who suggests they leave together. He lets Ishimura pick the hotel; he supposes it would be unreasonable for a teenager new to the city to know exactly where to go.

Ichimura hasn’t got terrible taste, at least. The hotel he chooses is one that Kisa prefers as well. The windows, though small, allow a fair amount of moonlight into the room on clear nights, and the pillows are soft. At least, he hasn’t suffocated in one here yet, which he considers a positive feature of the place.

But the best part of a love hotel isn’t the room, it’s the sex. Kisa and Ichimura waste no time in stripping. They throw their clothes wherever, never noticing where the pieces fall. They’ll collect their things in a couple of hours, but for now, there are more pressing matters at hand. Things like their tongues coming together, things like Ichimura’s hand in Kisa’s hair, things like Kisa’s hand stroking Ichimura’s cock.

Kisa pushes the taller man onto the bed and drops to his knees between Ichimura’s legs, licking a line up the length of his cock before taking the head into his mouth. Ichimura keeps his hand in Kisa’s hair as he moves up and down, hollowing out his cheeks. Though Ichimura’s grip is firm, he doesn’t push Kisa’s head down, as Kisa half-expects. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.

To reward him for his courtesy, Kisa pushes himself all the way down anyway, holding himself there with his nose at the base of Ichimura’s cock for as long as he can. Above him, Ichimura moans, back arched.

Kisa pulls away, gasping, and Ichimura’s hand moves from his hair to his cheek, thumb stroking the smooth skin gently. “Are you _sure_ you’re only eighteen?” he asks, voice hoarse with arousal and awe.

Kisa wipes his mouth with the back of a hand and shrugs. “I’m a fast learner,” he says, and he pulls Ichimura into a kiss, knowing he can taste himself on Kisa’s tongue.

“Fuck me,” Kisa says, and Ichimura looks like there is nothing in the world he would rather do.


End file.
